


More than words is all you have to do to make it real

by yourbuttervoicedbeau (kiwiana)



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: 5 Things, 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, POV David Rose, With like a whisper of angst in the middle there, two idiots in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25352410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/pseuds/yourbuttervoicedbeau
Summary: 5(+1) times Patrick said "I love you" without actually saying it, set between 4.06 and 4.12.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 90
Kudos: 364





	More than words is all you have to do to make it real

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a very basic little prompt fill -- I wrote #5 as a response to the prompt "Patrick says something devastatingly hot and David walks into something" for this_is_not_nothing. When I posted it in the discord I said something about how I've been on a real ‘all the ways Patrick said “I love you” before he actually said it’ kick lately (seriously, it's cropped up in a LOT of my recent fics) and then I realised I should just go ahead and turn it into a 5+1... so I did 😉 
> 
> Title is from Extreme. (And Westlife, and Mina, and Glee... it's a popular song to cover.)

**~1~**

It turns out David wasted the whole day worrying that Patrick would be terrible, when what should have worried him was that Patrick would be _good._

Then he wastes the first line of the song worrying that Patrick is good before he registers what Patrick’s actually singing, and that makes him realise that what _really_ should have worried him was the way Patrick retains information. Because clearly, he’s been hanging onto this since the conversation they had in Patrick’s car on the way to their second date, when Tina Turner had come on the radio. 

“People don’t think of this as a romantic song, because it’s so poppy,” he’d said, waving his hands around. “But when you listen to the lyrics, it’s actually really beautiful.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Patrick had replied with a small smile. “I feel the same way about Rick Astley.” And David hadn’t been sure whether he was being trolled or not, so he’d just changed the subject.

 _“Give me a lifetime of promises and a world of dreams,”_ Patrick sings, looking directly at him with a small smile, and David has to remind himself how to breathe. 

Being the singular focus of Patrick’s attention is a lot. It has been right from the start, and it’s worse because it’s unexpected. Because Patrick looks all unassuming and businessy, but then he turns those loud eyes on David and maintains the most intense eye contact in the world and says things like _thank you for making that happen for us_ or _that felt like my first time_ and David finds himself getting lost in it. 

But this time is so much worse, because it is — there is no other word for it — a serenade. In the middle of their store. In front of what feels like the entire town. In front of his _mother._ And it is painfully, obviously earnest. And David can’t run.

Well, he could run. But he doesn’t want to, and somehow that’s a lot more terrifying.

**~2~**

“He sees you, for all that you are,” his mom had said to him, and David had thought maybe it was true. He’d thought about how Patrick always seems to know when to push David and when to treat him gently; how he’d ignored David’s protestations over the monthly gifts (David refuses to call them _anniversaries)_ because he knew David secretly loved them but when he’d made a joke about David’s extensive wardrobe and David had said, quietly, that his clothes were all he has left of his old life Patrick’s eyes had softened and he hasn’t brought it up since; how he has never, not once, made David feel like he was too annoying, too dramatic, too much.

But that was before. Before the barbecue, before secrets and ex-fiancées and _you make me feel right_ and _I need some time with this._ And now Stevie has dragged him to a hotel room apparently decorated specifically to rub his current situation in his face and all he wants to do is get very, very drunk. 

When the waitress walks over with a bottle of decent-looking wine he thinks it’s a sign from the universe, validating him. But it’s not from the universe; it’s from Patrick. _Have fun, enjoy the night, thinking about you,_ the note reads, and David’s stomach clenches even before the waitress makes a highly inappropriate sex joke. 

He naturally assumed that this would be an ‘out of sight, out of mind’ situation for Patrick. Sure, they’ve been texting about the store, but Patrick is nothing if not professional. And this is the pattern most of David’s relationships have followed, albeit over a shorter timeframe — everything is good while it’s new and passionate, but eventually they get sick of him and move on to the next shiny thing.

But David has been thoroughly out of sight for several days now, and Patrick is apparently thinking about him. Wants him to _have fun and enjoy the night,_ which he obviously won’t, but the sentiment is nice.

 _Thank you for the wine,_ he texts later, once Stevie is snoring softly beside him. It’s far too late, but Patrick responds almost immediately.

_Glad you enjoyed x_

David doesn’t respond, but he stares at that _x_ until he falls asleep.

When they get back the next day, there is an ostentatious bouquet of flowers on the table in his room.

“Things went well with the vet, then,” David snarks at Alexis, who tilts her head at him.

“Um, no, David,” she says with a sigh. “These are for you.”

David blinks. “What?”

When she just gestures impatiently, he walks over to the table and picks out the card from the middle of the bouquet. It’s a surprisingly inoffensive card, as far as florist cards go; no garish colours, just embossed cream on the front. He flicks it open.

 _I figured these would wind up in the garbage if I bought you roses. Looking forward to you telling me your opinion on correct floral arrangements.  
_ _Patrick x_

Somehow, it’s not until the following morning, when Stevie knocks on the door and shoves a box of chocolates from the chocolatier in Elm Falls into his hands with an eyeroll, that it occurs to David that he might be being wooed. 

No one has ever chased him before.

**~3~**

On his knees in the middle of the store, panting after what is apparently the longest version of _The Best_ in existence, David is suddenly filled with self-doubt. What if, when Patrick asked for an olive branch or two, he really wanted David to go out and _buy_ something like he had? What if he’s mad that David kept him from dinner for this? What if seeing him make an idiot of himself is the thing that finally makes Patrick realise he can do so much better, and David has gotten his hopes up only to have them crushed again? What if— 

Patrick reaches out, but he doesn’t pull David to his feet. Instead, he uses David’s hands to balance him as he slides out of his seat and onto the floor, pushing David’s hair out of his eyes where it’s fallen out of place and stuck to the sweat on his forehead. Stevie was right; the leather sweater was a very bad idea.

“David,” he whispers, his thumb moving softly along David’s cheek. “That was—”

“I can buy you dinner,” David blurts out. “I didn’t mean to— we can go now, let me—” he starts to stand but Patrick pulls him back down, his brow furrowed.

“Hey, no,” he says. “I mean, yes, we should probably eat, but that’s not— this was a perfect olive branch, David, thank you.”

David twists the bracelet around his wrist nervously. “It’s not exactly jewellery,” he says, and Patrick actually rolls his eyes which David might find rude if he didn’t follow it by leaning in, kissing David softly for the first time in a week and fuck, he’s missed this.

“I know you don’t like to… put yourself out there,” Patrick tells him. “But I haven’t forgotten Asbestos Fest, and I know you’d only embarrass yourself like that if it was really, really important. So thank you.” 

David clears his throat. “So you agree it was embarrassing, then,” he says lightly, trying to lighten the mood a little.

Patrick grins widely at him. “I mean, I liked it. And Roland seemed to really appreciate the show too.”

David’s jaw drops. _“Roland_ saw?” he gasps, horrified. Oh, God, he’s going to have to leave town.

Patrick bursts out laughing. “David, my back was to the street,” he points out. “I have no idea if anyone saw you. But they could have, and you did it anyway. That was my point.” He stands, holding out a hand to pull David to his feet as well. “Come on,” he says, squeezing his hand. “Let’s get dinner.”

“Am I still paying?” David can’t help but ask, and Patrick pulls him into another kiss, this one much deeper than the first; a kiss with a promise behind it.

“Definitely.”

**~4~**

As soon as Patrick has finished making fun of him for not knowing about pregnancy or baby showers (and… why would he? Why does _Patrick?)_ he pulls out his laptop and starts working on a spreadsheet David doesn’t even try to feign interest in.

“Okay,” he says after a few minutes, making David jump. “I’ve made a list of our older party supply stock, so take a look and see if anything in that works for your theme.” He turns to David, his face painfully, sarcastically sincere. “Do you… have an existing mood board for baby showers? Or baby sprinkles?”

“Shockingly, I do not.”

“All right,” Patrick replies. “I guess we’re just going to have to wing it, then.”

David blinks at him. “We?”

“Sure,” Patrick tells him. “I mean, you have creative control, obviously. But I can make myself useful.”

“Mm, you always do,” David says, and he doesn’t _mean_ for it to sound dirty but Patrick shoots him an amused smirk. 

“Well, I was about to say ‘you shouldn’t have to deal with the Schitts alone’ but now you’ve gone and made it weird,” Patrick volleys back. David shudders theatrically. 

“Did not need that mental image, thank you very much,” he says. “Quick, distract me. Show me your list.”

Patrick pushes the laptop towards him. It’s not sorted by product type, like Patrick always insists on; it’s sorted by colour, which David had argued strongly for right from the time the store opened.

“Great list,” he murmurs, and Patrick snorts.

“We’re not changing the inventory system, David,” he says. “This is just for you. There should be enough there for you to make it look elegant.”

“Have you ever been to the Schitts’?” David asks him, unsurprised when he shakes his head. “Yeah, I thought not. Trust me, there are not enough decorations in the _world_ to make it look elegant, let alone in our store.”

To his surprise Patrick steps into his space, sliding his arms around David’s waist and pulling him close. “David,” he says with a soft smile, “I’m pretty sure you can make anything look good if you put your mind to it.”

David clears his throat. “Well,” he says thickly, “you should probably see their living room before you put that much faith in me. But thank you.”

“I always have faith in you,” Patrick replies simply, leaning in to kiss him before David can respond. When David brings his hand up behind Patrick’s neck to deepen the kiss, Patrick pulls away. “Tempting, but we should probably finish planning,” he says, stepping back.

David sighs, but picks up his phone from where he’d dropped it on the counter.

“Good God,” he bursts out. “Pregnant people can’t have _caffeine?”_

**~5~**

For the first and probably last time in his life, David arrives for breakfast at the café before Patrick. He’d been up early, examining his face for any trace of remaining poison oak rash (all gone, finally, so he’d been able to skip the concealer) which means that he was early for the one day a week Patrick insists they grab breakfast and open the store together, rather than David breezing in late like the rest of the week. So when Patrick does arrive David is already sitting at a booth, nursing his coffee with a tea sitting opposite him, waiting. 

After they’ve eaten, David is all the way down the steps before he realises Patrick isn’t beside him and he turns to see his boyfriend in the doorway, looking him up and down. That in itself isn’t particularly surprising, but the fact that it’s not his David-there’s-something-in-the-back-room-that-needs-your-attention expression sort of is; Patrick just looks _appreciative_ , and David can’t say he minds. 

“You look good today,” Patrick says warmly when he catches up, brushing David’s arm as they cross the road. “Are the pants new?”

“eBay,” David replies. Five years ago, the most treasured additions to his wardrobe were pieces he got his hands on before collections launched; now it’s when he finds something online the seller clearly has no idea of the value of. Somehow, it’s just as exciting. 

“Ah,” Patrick says. “Rick Owens or Dries van Noten?”

David stares. Those are, obviously, all words he knows, but hearing them come out of Patrick’s mouth is a little bit like hearing Twyla singing Nina Simone at their open mic night — unexpected, confusing, and a little bit hot. 

“Huh?” he says eloquently. 

“Oh, I just— every time you’ve worn pants with a… wrap thing, skirt, whatever you call it, and I’ve asked, it’s been one of those. Maybe I shouldn’t have assumed.” He finishes on a little shrug, but his face gives him away. 

Patrick looks _determined_. David’s not entirely sure why, but it’s very intriguing. 

“No, you’re right. Dries van Noten,” he says slowly. He’s still staring, which means he gets to see the proud, flushed smile appear on Patrick’s face even though he’s clearly trying to fight it back as he glances over at David and his smile turns into a smirk; David is pretty sure he has _his_ Patrick-there’s-something-in-the-back-room-that-needs-your-attention face on now. 

Apparently, Patrick being able to recognise designers is what does it for him these days. Who knew? 

He’s just opening his mouth to suggest that maybe the store could open a little late today when there’s a loud _thunk_. It takes a second for his brain to connect that to the searing pain in his cheek and then he staggers back, swearing loudly as he glares at his assailant. 

“When the fuck did they put a fucking lamppost there?” he groans.

Patrick’s lips are pressed together very, very tight as he reaches for David’s face, running his hand along it as if to check for any injuries. “I think it’s been there the entire time,” he says finally, his voice shaking with silent laughter. “Do you feel okay? I don’t think anything’s broken.” 

“Mm,” David says. “I’m not sure. Maybe you should check, in the stockroom. Just to be safe.”

He knows Patrick will say no; he’s the stickler for keeping to their business hours, after all. But still, it’s fun to try. 

Except Patrick doesn’t say no. His eyes sweep up and down David again and he… hesitates. 

“Five minutes,” David wheedles, and Patrick swallows hard before nodding, crossing the final few steps between them and the store. 

“I wouldn’t brag about that, David,” he says with a grin as he turns to unlock the door. 

David mock-scowls at his back. “I’ll show you bragging.”

Four and a half minutes later, he’s done exactly that. 

**~+~**

Patrick says _I love you,_ says _you’re my Mariah Carey_ and every nerve in David’s body is set alight. 

It takes him an hour, one painfully earnest conversation with Ted, and a misjudged dog cookie, but he fights through every self-preservation instinct he’s built up over the years, and he says it back. And the look on Patrick’s face when he does is — 

Well. It’s love. Obviously.

The door has barely locked at closing time when they’re pushing and pulling each other into the back room, not caring whether they’re seen. As soon as they’re through the curtain David has his hands on Patrick’s shirt, trying to make quick work of the buttons but hindered a little by Patrick being unwilling to tear their lips apart.

“I love you,” he’s mumbling against them as though the words are tumbling out, like he can’t stop saying them. “David, I love you.”

Once the shirt is finally off Patrick does break the kiss and then he’s doing what he always does, no matter how frantically they come together. He slides his hands carefully under David’s sweater before tugging it gently over his head, and then he steps back, folding it neatly.

David watches him swipe his hand along a shelf, checking it for dust before he places David’s sweater down — like he always does, without a word and without making a fuss — and realises with a shock that maybe Patrick has been saying _I love you_ for a whole lot longer than today.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Come and find me on [Tumblr](http://yourbuttervoicedbeau.tumblr.com).


End file.
